If you haven’t read him, you should



The Ultimate Reality Read
Darlinghurst Road is a journey through the streets of a red-light district after dark. It is the true story of a strange, parallel universe filled with sex, drugs, criminals and violence. Gritty, disturbing and written without compromise, Darlinghurst Road is a book that will stay with you long after you have put it down. Read the book, take the journey and experience this rare opportunity to peer through the murky window into a world that most people will never see.




Behind the Scenes
Darlinghurst Road is the main street of the inner city suburb of Kings Cross, in Sydney, Australia. It's a red-light district with a reputation for crime. At night, the brightly lit strip and the dingy, dirty alleyways are home to prostitution, violence, and drugs. The Cross is not a nice place and it’s not a pretty place.

I worked there in a business that is unique to The Cross, a shop that sold not only movies and adult toys but also had what is known as a Sex-on-Premises license. That meant, in plain terms, that we could rent out rooms and operate a club that had both private and public areas where people could have sex. Places like this exist in just about every country in the world but very few are legally sanctioned. The book, Darlinghurst Road, is the story of my time there and threaded throughout are the individual stories of the people that I encountered.

The book came about slowly. I sketched out a framework with some ideas and then left it alone to deal with a personal issue. I picked it up again and after reading it through with fresh eyes, I began to realize that I may have something worth publishing.

The finished book wasn't the one that I started. My personal story, of my time working in the adult industry, had become the story of Kings Cross. The laughter and tears, the characters and all the tales and confessions from the crazy mixed up world that we lived in. Its people that make places and once the direction became clear, the book almost wrote itself. When I closed my eyes, it all came flooding back.

I lived for a while just off Victoria Street, in an old building that dated back to the 1930's. Tall and narrow with the look of once being majestic, the Bernly Hotel was tucked away in a lane, a few doors down from an abandoned nightclub. They had a roof top area that in more prosperous days had been a pool but now was just a few plastic chairs and the boozy chatter of tourists on a budget. It gave a spectacular view of the city and on a balmy summer's night, before starting my shift at the store, there was no better place to drink my morning coffee.

As the sun went down across the Harbor Bridge, the car lights could be seen as they faded to suburbia. In the other lane, the lane coming into the city, the slow trickle of people would already be on their way to the all night bars, the strip joints and the seedy sex clubs around Kings Cross.

I'd smoke a cigarette, crush it out and light another before stepping out onto Darlinghurst Road. I'd get a wave as I walked or maybe a nod, from a girl, a bouncer or just someone on the street.

The doors would greet me, the always open doors with the blackened window on each side and the bold red sign telling minors that they were not allowed on restricted premises. The stairs would creak as I walked, the sound of pornography getting closer as I neared the counter with the TV moaning behind it. One shift in, the other out, we’d say a few words and count our money. The day had ended, and the night was mine...

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